3am Fast Food

I’m a third of the way through, and full,
but that won’t stop me ploughing on.
My eyes lie on fries
they know they do not need
but hands built like shovels
make sure to pack them in tight.
Not one, or two,
possibly three, but probably four
burgers sit unwrapped or unboxed
and spread across my bed.
Lying patiently, time ticks
as they wait for teeth
to tear through them.
Nine nuggets nestled neatly
next to barbecue sauce
are not needed for sustenance.
Instead, they unwillingly
play a sick game of self-harm
that’s been disguised as a treat.
No knives are needed here.
Fast food is only fast in delivery.
My 3am McFeasts are slowly killing me,
or rather, I’m using them to kill myself.